


Their Safe Haven

by SwimmingBird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John - Freeform, Asexuality, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, No Porn, One-Shot, johnlock ficlet, lurve, queerplatonic romantic relationship, sensual love, springlock exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingBird/pseuds/SwimmingBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt:</p><p>"Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John in a queerplatonic romantic relationship. It’s a bit of an oddball, but anything fluffy and loving and nonporny will be endlessly and forever adored. It’s always fun to see the two work out that 'hey, we’re in love, we don’t have sex,' but it’s still a wonderful and meaningful relationship."</p><p>For selskia.</p><p>Sorry for the crazy long delay. I hope you enjoy this despite the wait.</p><p>And a big thank you to The_Silent_Writer for her fantastic beta-ing!</p><p>The World of Sherlock Holmes in all its various variations, does not belong to me. This is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, Gatiss's, and Moffat's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selskia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selskia/gifts).



John sighed as he entered the flat with the groceries, late at night, after his shift from surgery. Sherlock was stretched on the sofa. His eyes were closed and soft snoring could be heard. After fighting fatigue for several days during an especially draining case, Sherlock evidently succumbed to his bodily needs. John could not help but to look at his genius with love and fondness.  

John quietly made his way to the kitchen to put away the groceries, his way lit by a fire from the hearth. Upon completing his task, John returned to the sitting room, where Sherlock was still sleeping. John smiled and shook his head at Sherlock.

_Silly git couldn't make it to our bed._

John noiselessly retrieves the afghan draped over his chair and arranges it over Sherlock, tucking him in. Sherlock stirs slightly from the contact, muttering something that could be interpreted as “John.” John tenderly smoothed the errant curls from Sherlock’s face.

John was wont to stay by Sherlock’s side, but the sofa did not afford any space for him to do so. Instead, John settled for sitting on the floor on a pillow with a book to entertain himself. He settled himself near Sherlock’s upper torso, towards his face.

Those outside of John and Sherlock did not understand their relationship. Most suspected that it was sexual in nature, some thought it was some sort of Stockholm syndrome. (Of course they were wrong on both accounts.) John and Sherlock did not pay them any mind. They agreed the world was full of morons, and that the love they had did not need understanding or approval from others.

They had each other. They loved each other. They showed their love in a sensual manner, through gentle touches and caring gestures. The love was private in nature; there were no displays of public affection. Instead, there were nights like this, nights sharing quiet company during the lulls between cases.

John read his book, listening to the exhaling and inhaling of Sherlock. It was reassuring to have this proof of Sherlock’s life and safety. There had been too many close calls for the both of them lately. For John, Baker Street was their Fortress of Solitude, their Batcave, their safe haven from the battle ground of London. It was where they could seek refuge.

The fire was growing dim and the night was growing long. John began nodding off, sleep was overtaking him. John lost the fight as his head tilted backwards to lie on the sofa he was leaning against. The warmth radiating from Sherlock’s body subconsciously put John at ease. Sherlock’s proximity during sleep always brought John peace. The nightmares and night terrors that plagued John so frequently melted away with Sherlock’s touch.

John was deep in his blissful dreams of adventuring with Sherlock when Sherlock drifted into consciousness. Sherlock first noticed that he was warm, warmer than he expected to be. He realized that he was covered by the ancient afghan. 

 _Undoubtedly John's work_. Sherlock's heart was warmed by John's love and attention.

As he flicked his eyes open, he could see the dying embers of the fire he started hours ago. And finally, but not least, Sherlock noticed John.

 _What a fool, sleeping like that will be murder on his neck,_ Sherlock reflected with concern and no trace of malice.

However, Sherlock could not help but see him adoringly. His doctor, his soul mate, his love.  

_Forever the soldier, keeping his watch over me._

Sherlock shifted to rest on his back. He raised his hand and gently threaded his fingers through John’s short hair. Outside, Sherlock could hear the chirping of Song Thrush on the window ledge. The flat was gaining a pinkish golden hue from the early morning light. Soon London would be truly awake.

As much as Sherlock loved the chase and the blood pumping in his and John’s veins as they fought side by side against London’s criminals, Sherlock could appreciate this.  

Sherlock knew their arrangement was an odd one, but John seemed satisfied. John ceased his dating. Sherlock was forever grateful for this. He marveled at the unique wonder that was John. Such a singular man that Sherlock never even hoped to have, let alone meet.

So Sherlock savored this moment. He took his time recording all the sensory input for his mind palace: the bristly feeling of John’s hair under his fingertips, the warmth from the afghan tucked around him, the pressure from John’s head against his chest, the soft chirping from outside, the light streaming from the window. All of it, the whole treasured memory, to be set aside for perusal for the dark days and the Danger Nights to center him, to ground him, in the inescapable loving force of _John_.

In a few hours, this bubble of shared affection and intimacy would pop. The outside world would intrude. Sherlock and John would catch the scent of new case and the game would be on again.

And Sherlock would have it no other way, and he knew John felt the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any thoughts or feelings about this, feel free to share.
> 
> Comments are always welcome!
> 
> Wow! I'm really surprised that this was so well received! Thank you for the kudos!!!


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